


Then You'll Know You Have Arrived

by mokuyoubi



Series: Cinderella 'Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel/epilogue to my Brencer Cinderella fic.  Basically my excuse to write porn that turned into an actual story, of sorts, about teenage virgins figuring themselves and each other out.  IDEK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then You'll Know You Have Arrived

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many historical inaccuracies in here. This is some magical AU, so let’s just blame all the stuff that’s wrong on that. This is technically underage, since they’re both 17, but they’re married, and it’s historical, so. Take it how you please.

There was an unsettling silence in the carriage as the mill faded in the distance. Zachary was riding in front with the driver. The man who had carried Brendon’s shoe was introduced as Ryan, and Brendon felt dismayed on his behalf, to have suffered the indignity of carrying around his old work boot for days on end. Spencer’s valet, Jonathan, had also accompanied them on the journey. Both he and Ryan were studying Brendon with a speculative expression. 

Brendon fought the urge to squirm. The condition of his old rags was disgraceful, covered in soot and flour, threadbare hems and worn patches. In a habit born from years of his mother’s chagrin over its constant state of disarray, Brendon smoothed his hair down. Spencer kept his fingers laced through Brendon’s all the while, and Brendon knew if he looked, he’d see his tanned and dirty fingers next to Spencer’s perfect, pale ones.

At last, Ryan leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “Spencer says you prefer Bennett to Dupin,” he said.

Brendon sat upright, looking first at Ryan, then to Spencer. He remembered Spencer talking about Ryan’s own opinion on the matter. Spencer said, “Honestly, Ryan, you couldn’t wait until we were home at least, to start in on him?”

 _Home_ ¸ Brendon thought to himself, _the palace_ , and had to take a deep breath. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked. He was so close, fingers curling under Brendon’s chin. 

They’d been close before, but never with an audience. Never before had Brendon let himself expect anything more to come of it. Now if he just leaned forward, he’d be kissing Spencer, and that was _allowed_.

Ryan cleared his throat. Blinking, Brendon drew away from Spencer. “I’m fine,” he said softly, then louder, swallowing, “I’m fine. To answer your question, Ryan, I think Dupin is a bit too revolutionary for my tastes.”

Ryan snorted. “Says the miller marrying the prince.” 

Brendon blushed and Spencer scowled at Ryan. Jonathan nudged an elbow in Ryan’s side. It seemed awfully bold a move for a valet, but then, from what Spencer had told Brendon already, Jonathan sounded more like a friend than a servant.

“I’m not going to apologise,” Ryan went on. “If that makes him blush, he’s going to need to develop much tougher skin to deal with palace life.”

There it was, again, that fear sneaking up in Brendon’s chest, making him draw a steadying breath. What was he _thinking_? Saying yes to Spencer meant everything that came along with being a prince. Brendon could never say no to Spencer, but how was he supposed to fit into the royal lifestyle?

Jonathan leaned into Ryan’s side and whispered something in his ear that made Ryan’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “I’m sorry, Brendon,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sincere.

Silence fell again. Brendon wanted to say a million things. To explain to Spencer why he’d come to the ball, and why he’d behaved as he had, and to apologise for just running away. He was all too aware of Ryan’s shrewd gaze to actually open his mouth. Hopefully they would have a chance to speak in private, soon.

*

Any hopes for a private moment with Spencer were dashed when they arrived at the palace. There were dozens of servants waiting to attend them, and three came to whisk Brendon away. He clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer just laughed and brushed a kiss over Brendon’s cheek, saying, “It’ll be fine. They’ll show you to your rooms, and you can change. We’ll see one another tonight.”

Brendon noticed the way the servants were looking at the ground or each other, anywhere but at Spencer and himself. It made him a little queasy. “Brendon,” Spencer said, more softly. Ryan was giving them another of those appraising looks, and Spencer stepped closer to Brendon, pitched his voice low. “It’ll be fine, trust me?”

“Always,” Brendon agreed, immediately, and let the servants lead him off to a side entrance. 

Brendon had seen the palace once or twice, from a distance. He could only stare in awe as he was led through the halls, at the intricate ceiling tiles and patterned rugs, walls hung in paintings of kings and queens past, chandeliers dripping crystals, casting sparkling light over the gold fixtures and trim.

At last they came to a suite of rooms that Brendon was informed were now his. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of having not only his own bed, dressed in thick, warm, soft-looking blankets, but having a separate study as well, when they led him through to the water closet. 

There was a man waiting there, dressed in a red and cream outfit much in the same fashion as Jonathan’s. He took Brendon in, head to toe, and said, “I think I will handle this on my own.” The other three men left, closing the doors behind them.

“I’m Shane, and I’ll be your valet now,” the man said.

Brendon wasn’t sure what to do with that. “I’ve never had a valet before.”

A smirk toyed around Shane’s lips. “I had assumed as much. As your valet, I will see to all your personal needs.”

“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” Brendon said. He didn’t want to offend anyone, but he’d been dressing himself just fine for seventeen years.

Shane considered him for a moment, head quirked to the side. “I’m here to make your life easier, not more difficult, so if you desire to bathe and shave on your own, by all means, carry on. However, it _is_ my job to make you presentable for the royal family, so until you are more familiar with how to dress yourself to their standards…”

Put that way, Brendon could see how Shane would be useful. Of course, the blinding fear over the fact that he was going to go before the king and queen was enough to override any embarrassment or resistance on his part when Shane helped him undress and led him to the bath.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Shane said. “Call for me when you’re done. I’ll just…” He plucked Brendon’s discarded clothing up from the floor, giving it a dubious look. “I’ll just put these away for you, then.”

Brendon flushed bright red as Shane closed the door behind him. His stomach was churning. Inexplicably, he longed to be in front of his fireplace at home, wrapped in blankets, reading by the firelight. 

Spencer was waiting for him, though. Spencer, who wanted to _marry_ him. Brendon couldn’t help the soft, wondering sound that escaped him at the idea. He didn’t know how he could ever, truly believe it. Spencer had come for him, had gone against his parents’ wishes and announced he was going to marry a commoner and a man. Brendon could learn to work with his valet, and he could be brave before the queen and king, to show he was worth it.

The water was scalding hot, and there were dozens of bottles and soaps lining the counter top. Brendon almost called Shane back in, completely at a loss. He scrubbed with one of the soaps until his skin was bright red, and sniffing bottle after bottle, finally guessed at which might be for his hair. It cleaned it anyway, and didn’t smell bad, or leave him looking ridiculous. 

In the end, he did call for Shane to help him shave, when he realised his hands were shaking. He didn’t trust himself not to knick his own skin and show up for his meeting with the royal family bleeding all over his chin.

Shane was quick and thorough about it. He paused halfway through, grinning, and said, “You washed your hair with the elderflower cream.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have sent you out,” Brendon murmured.

“It’s alright,” Shane said, “but you should rinse with the rosemary water before getting out.”

“What am I doing here?” Brendon asked out loud, before he could stop himself. He shot Shane a panicked look, and Shane paused in shaving, leaning back. He looked more casual with his sleeves rolled back, baring his arms.

“You’re here because Prince Spencer chose you,” Shane said. It wasn’t appropriate, Brendon knew, for servants to say things like that. Especially ones who were strangers. Then again, Brendon didn’t feel any better than a servant himself. 

“I’m terrified,” he admitted.

Shane went back to work, tilting Brendon’s face toward him, drawing the razor along his jaw. “There will be a lot of times you’ll want to run away, I’d imagine,” he said, finally. “They’re going to dress you up like them, and teach you how to walk and how to talk, and every moment will feel like a test they’re waiting for you to fail.”

“That’s hardly reassuring,” Brendon mumbled.

Shane shrugged. “I thought you might appreciate someone being honest with you. There’s no precedence for what you and the prince are doing. For him to marry a commoner, and a _man_ …love matches are scandalous enough when both parties are of noble blood.”

Brendon was silent as Shane finished shaving, then gave him the rosemary water for his hair. Shane left him to towel off and was waiting in the bedroom with an outfit laid out. It wasn’t as fancy as what the godparents had conjured for the ball, but it was still far grander than anything Brendon had ever owned. 

By the time Shane had done up all the buttons and arranged Brendon’s collar to his satisfaction, Brendon was nothing but a mess of nerves. Another servant was waiting to lead Brendon away outside his door, and Shane told him he’d still be there when Brendon returned. While Brendon doubted he’d require help dressing for bed, he nonetheless took comfort in the knowledge.

*

Brendon could hear the raised voices before he got anywhere near the receiving room. 

“I don’t think there’s any chance of that,” a man was shouting. “His father was a book keeper and his mother came over with some missionaries from Hawai’i, of all the places in the world!”

“Be careful, Lord Ross,” Spencer said. “Those are the parents of my future consort and your future prince, of which you speak.”

The servant darted Brendon a quick, curious look, and led him to the open door. Jonathan was just inside and ushered him in with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“That could actually work in our favour,” another man said, bent over some papers at a desk. “With all their little princes and princesses on the various islands, and the tribals still claiming sovereignty—”

“Brendon,” Spencer said, noticing him. The man speaking fell silent, and another man, tall and stout, and red in the face, gave Brendon a sneer. Brendon tried to ignore them and focus on Spencer, who came to his side and took his hand, leading him further into the room.

The king and queen were seated on a sofa by the window, and Brendon didn’t know what he was supposed to do, or say. “Mother, Father, allow me to introduce Brendon Urie.”

Brendon bowed deeply, murmured, “Your Majesties,” and waited. 

“You may rise,” the king said. There was nothing unkind about his tone, or the expression on his face.

“I suppose he cleans up nicely enough,” Ryan said. 

The tall man gave Ryan a dark look and leaned in to grumble something under his breath, close to the king.

“Yes, yes, Lord Ross,” the king said. “And of course that will be addressed. Mister Urie, please have a seat.”

Brendon let Spencer lead him to a chair, taking the one beside him. Everyone was staring at their clasped hands. “We’ve heard a great deal about you,” Queen Ginger said. Brendon fought the urge to laugh nervously. 

“Young man,” the king said, face very serious, “my son has been vehement that your intentions are pure. I think if that were the case, you’d have turned down his proposal, knowing what was best for him.” Spencer squeezed Brendon’s hand tightly.

“Oh, Jeffrey,” the queen chided. She sounded weary, and Brendon felt inexplicably guilty. “The contract Lord Ross is drawing up will assuage most of our concerns. Though there is the question of an heir.”

Brendon hadn’t thought of any of these things when Spencer had proposed. Perhaps the king was right. Brendon had only thought, selfishly, of how desperately in love with Spencer he was.

“Mum,” Spencer complained. “Father was the son of the second child. One of the twins—”

“It is not up to the twins to provide an heir,” the king said sharply. 

The conversation devolved at that point, and there was a lot of yelling about Spencer’s duties, and noble blood, and marriage contracts. A part of Brendon wanted to just apologise and promise to go away if it would fix things, but Spencer was clinging to his hand like Brendon was the only important thing in the room.

“I would still like to know how this young man made his way into the ball in the first place,” Lord Ross said. Ryan was glaring daggers at his father. Brendon wondered what Lord Ross would do if he knew the kind of literature his son and the prince were reading.

“As would I,” King Jeffrey said. “Certainly someone capable of such cunning and subterfuge could also be capable of charming himself a prince.”

“Father, don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer said.

King Jeffrey gave him a quelling look. “Do not take that tone with me. You’ve gotten us all into this mess, Spencer, with your little spectacle at the ball. The boy will explain himself.”

Brendon felt his mouth working, but couldn’t make any sound come out. It was such a ridiculous suggestion. Brendon couldn’t even charm his own aunt and uncle into treating him kindly. The idea that he could trick the prince into loving him was absurd, though, perhaps from the king’s perspective, the only way to explain it. 

And what of the party? How could Brendon even begin to explain the fairy godparents? “I was given an invitation,” he stuttered.

“Lord Beckett’s invitation, it would seem,” one of the men supplied.

“Lord Beckett is away in Spain,” Lord Ross said. “Are we to believe he passed his invitation along to _you_ to go in his stead?”

“I—” Brendon gave Spencer a desperate look. 

Spencer squeezed his hand and said, “It’s alright, just tell them, whatever it is.”

“There was a man. He said he was—” Brendon couldn’t bring himself to say the words _fairy godparents_ in the presence of the king and queen. “He said his name was Pete.” Something about the words made Ryan and Jonathan smile at one another.

“Am I late to the party?” a familiar voice asked, and Pete came strolling into the room, as if conjured from Brendon’s words. On either arm were Patrick and Ashlee.

Lord Ross looked furious, but the king and queen seemed pleased to see them. “Peter,” the queen said, and met each of them with a kiss to each cheek. “Patrick, dear Ashlee.”

“Ginger.” Pete gave her a wolfish grin, and Brendon was scandalised on her behalf. The queen didn’t seem to mind, though. “Jeffrey, I see you’ve met my Brendon.”

“Your Brendon?” Queen Ginger said. She looked at Brendon again, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Do you know them?” Brendon asked of Spencer side-long. 

“Ashlee and Patrick are the prince’s godparents,” Ryan said, almost gleefully. “Patrick gifted him with wit and song, and…” Spencer turned slightly pink as Ryan continued, “Ashlee gifted him with grace and beauty.”

Brendon couldn’t help but smile, murmuring, “They did quite admirably.” Then, remembering where they were, and who was watching, he turned his attention back to Pete. “What about you? With what did you gift him?”

“I gave him you, didn’t I?” Pete said. He turned to the queen and king. “I was the one who got him all dolled up and into the ball. Bill didn’t mind our using his invitation, I can assure you.” Sometimes, Pete’s turns of phrase made no sense at all to Brendon.

The queen narrowed her eyes. “I think you had better explain yourself.”

Ashlee was the one who spoke. “You both wanted true love for your children, but that isn’t something we can promise. He needed to find it for himself.”

“And when there were obstacles put in the way, I helped Brendon to overcome them,” Pete concluded.

“But, Peter,” the king said, “this boy—”

“Brendon is honest, hardworking, and rather painfully sincere,” Pete said.

“His intentions toward your son are indeed, the purest,” Patrick interrupted. “You shouldn’t worry about anything else.”

The queen wrung her hands in her laps, and then stood and came to Brendon and Spencer. She ran a hand over Spencer’s head, smoothing his hair back and cupped his cheek. “My son,” she said. “I should have trusted you to know your heart.”

She offered her hand to Brendon, who took it and pressed his lips to her knuckles uncertainly. The queen granted him a small smile and said, “I think, Lord Ross, that with the assurances of Spencer’s godparents, we may proceed without further consideration.”

Pete winked at Brendon as if to say, _didn’t I tell you it would all work out in the end?_ Brendon was grateful, he really was, but he also thought Pete could have done things in a much less roundabout way and saved everyone a lot of trouble.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Ross said, “as you mentioned earlier, there remains the question of issue?”

The queen had a pensive look, and the king sighed heavily. Pete clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “If you will have some patience, and trust in me, I promise you’ll have no cause to worry over the existence on an heir.”

Queen Ginger and the king exchanged a look, and then the king rose.

“Very well,” King Jeffrey said. “There will be another ball to formally announce the engagement. He’ll need a title before then. A dukedom, I should think.” At that, Lord Ross looked as though he was suffering an apoplexy.

“Awesome,” Pete said, and clapped his hands. “So, that’s all settled, we should do dinner now. Leave the business for later.”

“Oh Peter,” Queen Ginger said, in a fondly exasperated tone. Pete put his arm around her waist, and cajoled her towards the door. She went, laughing, and pushing at his chest. 

Apparently, Pete’s suggestion was as good as royal decree, because the gathering dispersed, Jeffrey following after his wife and Pete, talking in low tones to Patrick. Lord Ross was still glaring at Brendon, and it was most unsettling.

“Sp—your hi…I’ve caused so much trouble,” Brendon whispered.

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not going to start that again, are you?” he said.

“Spencer,” Brendon said, anxious.

“They were just worried about me, but they trust my godparents, and they’ll come to see that what Pete and Patrick said about you is true.” 

Brendon hoped that what Pete and Patrick had said was true. Brendon didn’t feel honest and pure. He felt rather selfish, putting the future of the kingdom in jeopardy.

“Come on,” Spencer said. He gave Brendon an impulsive kiss, quick and soft, on his mouth.

“Spencer,” Brendon admonished, feeling himself go pink. There were _so many_ of the king’s men still about, including the imposing Lord Ross. 

“You can meet Crystal and Jacqueline,” Spencer said, and tugged Brendon to his feet by his hand.

Brendon would much rather go hide in his rooms, but he told himself to be brave, for Spencer. Spencer had gone against the king and queen’s wishes for him. Brendon could make it through a royal dinner.

“That sounds lovely,” Brendon said. 

*

The princesses were indeed lovely. Brendon was happy to have them prattling at him about the newest fashions and music, and what they’d learned from their tutors recently, so he didn’t have to pay much attention to the godparents and queen discussing his future at the head of the table.

“He’ll need to see Victoria for lessons in deportment and diction. I think we can spare one or two of the girls’ tutors for languages and monarchical history,” the queen said, and made a despairing sort of ticking noise with her tongue. “Guy will need to fit him tomorrow for the wedding. And a whole new wardrobe.”

“Guy really makes the most gorgeous clothing,” Jacqueline said. “A wedding! I can’t wait to see what he’ll make for us.”

Crystal made a face. “It isn’t as exciting if there isn’t a wedding gown,” she said, then gave Brendon a speculative look. “You aren’t going to wear a gown, are you?”

“Crystal,” Spencer said, laughing at the look in Brendon’s face.

“I think he could pull it off,” Pete said. 

Brendon frowned in dismay. Luckily, Queen Ginger said, “I think a white bridal suit will suffice. We’ll have to do something with the princess consort’s tiara, though.”

All this talk was making Brendon feel light-headed, dukedoms and tiaras. He took a long drink from his wine glass. The king, rather inexplicably, was giving Brendon a sympathetic look, and tipped his glass in Brendon’s direction. Brendon smiled nervously, though he didn’t feel it all, and spent most of the remainder of dinner staring at his plate and eating very little.

*

As promised, Shane was waiting for Brendon after dinner, and escorted him back to his room. “But,” Brendon protested, twisting to watch Spencer walking the opposite direction with Jonathan and Ryan on either side. “I would really like to speak with the prince on my own.”

Shane gave him a slightly incredulous smile. “I don’t think you’ll be alone with the prince again until you’re married to him.”

Brendon turned bright red when the implications caught up with him. He made a sputtering noise as Shane closed the suite doors behind them. “We’re not…I didn’t mean…” Brendon protested.

“Oh, certainly not,” Shane agreed. “They can hardly be worried about birthdates too soon after the wedding, but all the same, there would be concerns about the impropriety.”

“I just want to talk to him,” Brendon said, sinking down on the sette at the foot of his bed.

Shane paused in helping Brendon off with his boots. “I have this feeling that being your valet is going to get me into a lot of trouble,” he said.

That was ridiculous. Brendon didn’t want anyone getting into trouble on his behalf. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’ll talk to Jon tomorrow,” Shane said. He rose to his feet and prodded Brendon in the direction of the water closet to brush his teeth. “I can’t promise anything. There are some, like Lord Ross, who will be watching you very closely for any reason to delay or cancel the wedding.”

“Why is Lord Ross so adamant against it?” Brendon asked, around his toothbrush. “He’s Ryan’s father, isn’t he?”

Shane nodded and passed Brendon a glass of water with which to rinse. “Lord Ross believes if the king and queen are going to allow the prince to marry a man, he should be one of noble blood.”

Brendon couldn’t find fault with that reasoning. His expression was glum when he glanced up at the looking glass. “Specifically,” Shane continued, “he believes it should be his son.” 

“Oh,” Brendon said. He let Shane pluck the toothbrush from his fingers and lead him back into the bedchamber. 

“Ryan is, technically, Prince Spencer’s valet de chambre, though he functions as more of a secretary, than anything,” Shane said. “At the time of the appointment, it was Lord Ross’s best prospect for his son. Now he is furious he didn’t consider the possibility of a love match between the two of them.”

“But I thought…I was under the impression that Ryan and Jonathan were…” he trailed off, because Spencer had never actually said as much, and certainly you didn’t gossip about a romance between a Lord’s son and a valet.

“Lord Ross doesn’t know that,” Shane said. He’d make quick work of the fastenings on Brendon’s coat and shirt, but left Brendon to change into his nightgown unassisted. 

“Ryan and Prince Spencer have been quite close since their births. Lord Ross wouldn’t be the first person to assume there was a romance between the two of them. Anyway, until Lord Ross passes on, Ryan won’t be making any formal promises to Jonathan.” 

From what Spencer had told Brendon of his friendship with Ryan, the two of them sounded a lot more like brothers than anything else. He nodded anyway. “When Spencer is king, he’ll change that,” he said. “Ryan will be able to marry whoever he wants, and so will everyone else.”

Shane gave Brendon a wide grin. “Spencer will be a wonderful king, especially with you as his consort.”

“You don’t even know me,” Brendon protested.

“I might as well, as much as Spencer has gone on about you,” Shane said.

“He…he spoke of me to you?”

“At length,” Shane agreed. “To me, and Ryan, and Jonathan, and the princesses, and anyone who would listen, really. And since we all have to listen…”

Brendon laughed before he could censor himself, delighted. “I still can’t believe this isn’t all just a dream. That I won’t wake up tomorrow back home with my aunt and uncle.”

Shane turned back the sheets and replaced the cool coals in the warmer with new. “I’m sure it will all sink in once you’ve spent the morning being measured and prodded by Guy,” he said. “You should sleep. I’ll speak to Jon about finding some time for you and the prince tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Shane,” Brendon said, sincerely. Shane gave him another brief smile as he finished extinguishing the candles on his way out of the room, until the only light left was from the fireplace. 

Brendon thought he would be too anxious and excited to rest, but within a matter of minutes, he was fast asleep.

*

Despite Shane’s attempts, it was several days before Brendon was able to see Spencer in private. In the interim, he’d been through several fittings with Guy, and had begun lessons with his tutors. Andrew, borrowed from lessons with the princesses, had been much relieved to find Brendon already had decent grasp on German and French. 

Though he’d stopped going to school at twelve, he’d always read whatever he could get his hands on, and his mother often spoke to them in French and her native tongue. German he’d picked up from their neighbour.

The political and historical lessons with Adam, on the other hand, were overwhelming and confusing, and Brendon was glad there would hopefully be many years before Spencer acceded to the throne. Even then, Brendon wouldn’t have any real power, and the people of the kingdom could be glad of that.

“You know that isn’t true,” Shane told him, when Brendon said as much one night. “Spencer chose you because he sees you as an equal. He wants everyone in the land to feel as if they have a voice, and as the common born prince consort, the people will look to you for guidance.”

“I’m not fit to be an example for anyone,” Brendon said.

“Prince Spencer _chose_ you,” Shane repeated. “Do you think he’d do that if he didn’t believe in you?”

Brendon didn’t know if Spencer’s belief in him was justified, was the problem.

 

*

The royal family gathered in salon after dinner most evenings. The first evening the godparents held court and kept things from being too awkward. Since then Brendon had spent the time silently observing, afraid to enter into the casual conversation. He was acutely aware of how out-of-place he was. 

Besides the king, queen, Spencer and the princesses, Ryan and Jonathan often dined alongside the family, as well, despite Brendon’s previous understanding of a valet’s function and relationship to his master.

Towards the end of the week, Jacqueline, looking bored of Ryan’s droning on about some piece of theatre he’d recently seen, said, “Brendon, Spencer says you play the piano.”

Brendon chanced a look at Ryan, though he didn’t seem very put-out by the interruption. “A little.”

“More than a little,” Spencer said. “He was going to be a composer, before his parents passed away.”

Brendon gave Spencer a look of exasperation. “I said I’d have liked to be one,” he said. 

Spencer took his hand, and Brendon fought the urge to pull away, with the eyes of the royalty on them. “Why don’t you play for us, Brendon,” King Jeffrey said.

“Yes, do,” Jacqueline agreed quickly. She was usually the one to play in the evening, and was fairly decent at it, too, but Brendon had early gotten the impression that she didn’t care for playing the piano.

“I wouldn’t know what to play,” Brendon protested.

“Mother just got me a songbook by Moore,” Jacqueline prodded.

Really, as nervous as Brendon was about playing, it probably reflected more poorly upon him if he kept refusing the princess. He went to the piano, spread open Jacqueline’s songbook to the first song, and began to play. His mother had been fond of Moore, and Brendon knew most of the older tunes, so it was easy.

Ryan and the twins sang together for a while, and then lost interest after the first few songs. Brendon was ready to stop playing when Spencer came to sit beside him. “You should play this one,” Spencer said, flicking forward a few pages.

Brendon ducked his head, giving Spencer a sidelong grin. “I can’t sing that to you in front of your parents,” he said.

Spencer smiled back, and oh, how Brendon longed to be alone with him. “They aren’t paying any attention. Anyway, it’s in Jacqueline’s book.”

Brendon hesitated, and Spencer leaned closer, nose brushing Brendon’s cheek. Was it because he was royalty, and unused to people telling him how to behave, or was it just because he was Spencer, that he did these things right out in the open, where anyone could see? “Play it for me,” he murmured. 

Clearing his throat, Brendon sat up straighter. He nudged Spencer gently in his side, and began to play the song. There was some tittering laughter from the twins, which Brendon resolutely ignored, as he began to sing. Spencer watched him, something unfamiliar about the expression on his face as he did so. It made Brendon feel hot all over, made his voice catch as he sang of roses and sweet kisses.

“You are too modest, Brendon,” Queen Ginger said, when he’d finished. Brendon started. He’d nearly forgotten anyone was present, other than Spencer. “What a lovely voice you have. Jacqueline has finally found someone to entertain us in her stead.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Brendon said, and avoided looking Spencer in the eye. “Of course I’ll play whenever you desire.”

“As delightful as Moore is, perhaps you could play something of more…substance,” King Jeffrey said.

Brendon smiled into his shoulder. It reminded him of the playful bickering between his mother and father during the long winter nights, Brendon taking his family’s requests at the piano bench. 

It was late when the family finally began to head to their bedchambers. Spencer and Ryan left while Brendon was finishing a conversation with Crystal. Once Crystal had gone, Brendon was a little disappointed to find that Spencer hadn’t waited to bid him goodnight. 

Jonathan was outside the salon when Brendon left, and took him by the arm, ushering him down the hall and around the corner. “Wha—” Brendon began, and Jon shushed him.

There was a light on in one of the rooms Brendon passed every day, but was forever empty. Jon all but shoved Brendon inside, and closed the door behind him. Brendon’s protests died when he saw Spencer standing by the window.

“Oh,” Brendon said, and didn’t get any further before Spencer had him wrapped in his arms, their lips pressed together. “Oh,” Brendon said again, a long moment later, when Spencer drew back just enough to meet his gaze.

“You sounded amazing.” Spencer breathed hot and damp on Brendon’s cheek, pressing kisses there and along his jaw. “It was so difficult to keep my hands to myself.”

“Spencer,” Brendon said. It was hard to remember why this was a bad idea when Spencer’s hands were roaming over Brendon’s hips and up his back, tangling in his hair to lead Brendon into another kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” Brendon said, panting, lips still brushing Spencer’s. “You’re living down the hall and I see you less than I did before we were engaged.”

“It’ll be better soon,” Spencer promised. “Father finally settled with Lord Ross on the date. We’ll be married on the twenty-fifth.”

“That’s so quick,” Brendon said. He was having trouble speaking with the way Spencer was mouthing at his neck, just above the collar of his jacket. “My, ah…my brothers courted their wives for months. Matthew didn’t marry Mary for over a year and half.” 

Spencer drew back a bit, hands light on Brendon’s waist. “Is it too soon?” he asked. “If you want to wait—”

“No,” Brendon said quickly. He felt bold, leaning in first for another kiss. “It’s all overwhelming, but…” Over the past week and a half, Brendon had often questioned his decision, when he was being pestered by Guy, or interrogated by Lord Ross, or having monarchical law drilled into him. Here, in Spencer’s arms, Brendon knew he’d made the right choice. 

“Good,” Spencer said. “I rather think with as often as I visited you at the market, our courtship has gone on long enough.”

Put that way, Brendon had to agree, though he’d never thought of their visits that way before. “You mean…all that time, you…you…”

“Wanted you?” Spencer finished. His hands were roaming again. He grabbed a handful of Brendon’s clothing and pulled him closer, palms firm and rough on Brendon’s back. “Would you—”

“Spencer.” Jon was sticking his head in the door and Brendon jumped. He tried to pull away, but Spencer held firm. “You need to get back to your chambers.”

Spencer let out a long, steadying breath. For a brief moment, he placed his forehead against Brendon’s and took both of Brendon’s hands in his own. “Brendon, I—”

“Spence!” Ryan snapped, and Spencer scowled over his shoulder.

“I’m _coming_ ,” Spencer snapped back. He pressed one more, quick kiss to Brendon’s lips and said, distractedly, “Sleep well,” before allowing Ryan and Jon to drag him away. 

*

Brendon’s family was invited to be guests of the king and queen for the wedding and holiday celebrations to follow. They said he could invite whoever he wanted, and so he’d added his friends from Blissford as well, Dallon and Ian. He was going crazy only seeing Spencer at mealtimes and in the salon after dinner. Every word was carefully chosen in the presence of the royal family. Therefore it was quite a relief when his family and friends arrived.

They’d been given chambers near Brendon’s, and in the morning after their arrival, a private breakfast just for them had been arranged in one of the smaller dining rooms. It was a joyous reunion, and Brendon was so thankful to see them again and be in their company that the longing for his parents’ presence lessened. 

“Shall they be calling you princess?” Daniel teased.

Dallon ruffled Brendon’s hair. “You’ll look fetching in a tiara,” he said.

Brendon shoved him off, flushing bright red. He still didn’t know what the queen had planned to do with the tiara. “I’ll be…” he trailed off, because it still didn’t quite seem real. “I’ll be Prince Brendon, Duke of Edinburgh.”

“That’s—we don’t have to actually call you _Prince_ Brendon, do we?” Ian asked, brow arched.

Before, Brendon might have thrown a bit of his bread at him, but now he thought of what Victoria would have to say about his table manners. “You better hadn’t,” he said.

“Do you get to hand out titles?” Dallon asked. “I could be okay with an earldom.”

“Oh, just an earldom,” Brendon snorted. Victoria would be displeased about that, too. It was so nice to be allowed to be himself, without fear of censure. Soon every eye in the kingdom would be on him. 

“Sorry, _Duke of Edinburgh_ ,” Dallon said with a smirk.

“I still can’t believe they’re letting Prince Spencer _do_ this,” Kara said. “What about an heir?”

“Er…” Brendon took a long swallow from his water glass. “Pete—that is, one of Spencer’s godparents—said…” Now that Brendon thought back on what Pete had said, there was an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Well, Jackie, or Crystal…Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Listen to him, will you,” Matthew said, “ _Spencer, Jackie, Crystal_ , just like that.”

“Well.” Brendon sat up straighter. “I’m not very well going to call my husband _Your Highness_.” Which was all very well to say to his siblings, but sometimes hard to remember on his own.

“Your _husband_ ,” Kara sighed and drew Brendon close with an arm around his shoulder. The touch reminded him fiercely of their mother. “I can’t believe—our little brother! Mum and Dad would be so proud.”

*

Pete, Ashlee, and Patrick were regular guests at the palace. Though Brendon’s initial impression of Pete had been less than favourable, all three were quickly becoming good friends. They had taken charge of the wedding and the king and queen had gladly handed over control.

Brendon was thankful for the distraction when they called him away from his lessons for details pertaining to the ceremony and celebration. There were dances to be learned, lines of the ceremony to be memorised, and they would gather in his chambers with Brendon, helping him along.

When Brendon had screwed up his lines for about the hundredth time, only a few nights before the wedding, he was filled with a sort of dread and panic. “Lord Ross is absolutely right,” he said, head in hands. “I don’t belong here.”

“Kid, trust us, you’re MFEO,” Pete said, clapping a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “This is what we do for a living, match people up and shit.” Seriously, the man had the most bewildering manner of speech.

Ashlee rolled her eyes. “What he means is, at the end of the day, all that matters is how you feel about Spencer, and how he feels about you. All this other stuff, it’s just one day.” 

A very important day, where every noble in the country, and some from abroad would all be present, watching Brendon like hawks. Anyway, it was easy for the godparents to say—they somehow got away with having their threesome without so much as a raised brow, probably because they could turn everyone into toads, or something.

“Come on,” Ashlee said, prodding him to his feet. “We can work on the dance instead. Maybe it’ll help clear your head.”

Brendon liked dancing. He was _good_ at dancing, even if he’d never learned these dances before. A world-weary Patrick was his partner, and Brendon wasn’t sure how that had happened, though Patrick had mumbled about losing a bet. But tonight, he failed at even this, stumbling over himself and stepping on Patrick’s toes until he gave up in disgust.

“Chin up,” Patrick said. “This time Saturday you’ll be a married man.”

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, waggling his eyebrows. “A married man alone in his chambers with his new husband.”

“Pete!” Brendon said, scandalised. 

“Speaking of which,” Pete went on. “Of course there’s our official wedding gift, which will be presented after the ceremony, but I thought it would be better to give you this part in private.”

From within his jacket pocket, Pete produced a small, purple glass bottle, filled with what looked to be oil. Brendon was hesitant to take it, tipping it side to side for some sort of clue. 

“For the wedding night,” Pete explained. Ashlee and Patrick groaned in dismay at the same time. “What? Someone has to prepare these kids!” He turned his attention back to Brendon. “It’ll help ease the way, so to speak.”

Brendon gave him a blank look. “Oh, look, how am I supposed to resist when they’re so adorable and innocent?” Pete said, mostly to himself. “You get your fingers all slick, and then you stick them up Spencer’s—”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Brendon exclaimed, scandalised and embarrassed on Spencer’s behalf. Of course he understood how these things worked, with four older brothers and Dallon and Ian for best friends. That didn’t mean he expected anyone, not even Pete Wentz, to be so forward.

“Pete,” Brendon said, ushering him to the door of his chambers, Ashlee and Patrick following and failing miserably at their attempts to cover their laughter. “I am grateful to you for all your help, but there are certain aspects of my life with Spencer which we _will not_ discuss!” 

After seeing them out, he tucked the bottle away out of sight, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it, or what Spencer might think of it, the rest of the night.

 

*

The day before the wedding was the liveliest yet. On top of all the guests milling about, there were dozens of deliveries being made to the kitchens in preparation of the wedding breakfast for the royal family and the feasting which would last throughout the entire day and evening. 

Somehow Brendon had missed the fact that Ian and Shane were cousins, and so they, along with Dallon and Pete, spent a lot of time with Brendon in his chambers. Pete, who apparently knew everyone in the kingdom, was also good friends with Guy, and spent the day providing insight and opinions as Guy put the finishing touches on Brendon’s wedding garments. Brendon was so nervous it was hard to breathe, and he appreciated the inanity of his friends’ conversation, which helped distract him. 

After dinner, Queen Ginger came to Brendon’s chambers bearing a smallish, silver box. She looked over his wedding suit, plucked at the pearls and golden thread, and gave Brendon a warm smile. “Very princely,” she murmured.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Brendon said, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“Have a seat,” she said, patting the sette beside her.

Brendon was really trying to become more comfortable around the king and queen. He knew his awkwardness only made them more uncomfortable in turn. All the same, he felt every second as though he were about to make some unforgivable mistake around them, and be cast out. 

The queen had insisted on less formality from him, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to address her with any sort of familiarity. He’d managed so far by avoiding addressing her by name or title altogether.

He seated himself beside her, noticing her perfectly arranged skirts, and tried not to jump when she laid a hand over his, clasped in his lap. “My darling boy, whatever is troubling you?” 

“Just nerves,” Brendon said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“The night before my wedding, the Queen came to visit me, as well,” Queen Ginger said. “I doubt you could be any more nervous now than I was then. 

Brendon snorted, and immediately cursed himself, eyes going wide, because you did not snort in the queen’s presence, least of all in response to something she said. “I’m sorry,” he said, fervently.

Queen Ginger sighed. “However did Spencer manage to get you to agree to marry him?” she asked.

“I’m...I’m sorry?” It seemed the question should be the other way around.

“It’s a wonder you can look him in the eye, or speak his name, let alone how you will visit your husbandly duties upon him,” she continued.

Brendon was sure he’d never been so red in his life. He was half-convinced he was dreaming, because there was absolutely no way the queen was having this conversation with him. Suddenly, it occurred to him to wonder if fairy godparents could change their visages. Could it be Pete talking to him right now, in the queen’s guise?

“Brendon, my child,” the queen said, “if you were a girl, do you know the things we would have already discussed? The embarrassing rituals that would be expected of you?” 

Mutely, Brendon shook his head. “Jeffery’s mother had far too intimate knowledge of what took place in our marriage bed, in those early days,” the queen said. 

“We never cared much for one another. I decided early on that when it was my daughter-in-law, I’d do far better a job. With love matches there is far less cause to worry about securing an heir. Obviously there is no precedence for your marriage to my son, and we are all figuring this out together. We will simply have to take Peter for his word that you will have issue.”

Queen Ginger paused and squeezed Brendon’s hand, then released it. She tucked a finger under his chin and gave a gentle nudge until Brendon lifted his head and met her gaze, flushing madly. “I’m doing a rather poor job of reassuring you, aren’t I?” She had a rueful smile on her lips.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” Brendon said. “I appreciate the effort.”

“Oh, this is all beside the point,” she went on, tone lighter, “which is, I don’t know how it is my son managed to get past this pervasive obsequiousness of yours.”

That stung a little, because how else was Brendon supposed to be? Until a few short weeks ago, he’d been expected to be this way. It wasn’t so easy a thing to change overnight. “He didn’t have to try very hard,” Brendon finally admitted. “It’s probably shameful how easily I gave in, when he asked me to call him by his name.”

“If it was anything like my own experience has been, I doubt that very much.”

It took Brendon a moment to realise he was being teased. By the queen, no less, and wondered if he’d entirely misunderstood the tone of this whole conversation. “I’m sorry,” he said, and had to physically clamp his mouth shut against the automatic “your majesty,” that tried to escape. “Ginger.”

The use of her name made the queen grant him a brief, stunning flash of a grin, in which Brendon saw her son. “Lovely,” she said. “Now.” She passed him the silver, jeweled box she held in her lap. “I wanted to give you this tonight.”

Brendon took the box which weighed heavily in his hands. He undid the latch and lifted the lid, balancing the box on his knees. Inside was a golden circlet with rubies, pearls, and diamonds inset. 

Ginger leaned close to look over his shoulder and said in a soft voice, “Lord Ross nearly had a fit when he discovered I was giving you this particular crown.” She lifted it from where it was nestled in silver satin. “It is traditionally worn by the second son of the king and queen. Why don’t you try it on?”

Brendon’s fingers felt thick and clumsy as he lifted the circlet out. He went to the looking glass by his dresser and settled it on top his curls. Queen Ginger came up behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders, and smiled. In that moment, Brendon was so thankful for her, in the absence of his own mother.

“It suits you quite nicely,” she said.

Brendon rather thought it looked horribly out of place, but kept the thought to himself.

*

Though Brendon was having some difficulty adjusting to palace life, the luxury of a nightly bath was one he indulged in quite happily. After visiting with the queen and being pestered by Guy and the others all day, Brendon let the softly scented water sink into his muscles and soothe his nerves. 

Shane was in and out of the water closet and bed chambers, preparing things for the morning. He’d asked Brendon which nightshirt he’d like for tomorrow night, so that Shane could take it to the prince’s rooms in the morning. That more than anything else brought home the reality that tomorrow night, Brendon would be wed. After that, even with the bed was soft and coals heated the sheets, Brendon could not relax enough to sleep.

It had to be after midnight when Brendon heard the creak of his door opening and started, sitting straight up in bed. The heavy drapes surrounding his bed were parted to reveal Spencer, who gave him a grin as he climbed into bed. Brendon shrank away, clenching the sheets tightly in his fists. “What are you _doing_?” Brendon hissed.

“I didn’t see you once all day,” Spencer whispered, coming closer. He leaned in for a kiss and Brendon turned his head, the touch landing on his jaw.

“We’ll see plenty of each other tomorrow,” Brendon said. “But if they find you in here, I’ll be in such trouble.”

“I’d be the one in trouble,” Spencer said, “sneaking into your room.” He seemed content with Brendon’s jaw. His lips trailed lightly along the curve of it, then pressed a kiss to Brendon’s ear before drifting lower. 

Brendon shivered at the touch and ducked his head. “They’d say I’d sed--seduced you.” Spencer’s mouth had found a place that made heat pool in low in Brendon’s belly. Brendon nudged him away.

Spencer gave him a droll look. “Not yet you haven’t.”

“Spencer,” Brendon said, distressed.

Spencer chuckled, forehead dropping to rest against Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t think I’ll give up so easily tomorrow night,” he said.

Though he knew Spencer was only teasing, Brendon was sincere when he answered, “Tomorrow night I won’t deny you anything.” 

Spencer’s eyes were dark when he lifted his head. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and leaned in to kiss Brendon again, his touch lingering. His lips were slick and they glided smoothly across Brendon’s. Reflexively, Brendon licked his own, and when his tongue brushed Spencer’s lips, Spencer’s breath caught. Tentatively, Brendon tried again, this time tracing the seam of Spencer’s mouth. He was rewarded with a rumbling moan and Spencer parting his lips in welcome.

It was wet and messy and sort of amazing, the way their mouths slid together, over and over, every time opening a little more, until Brendon grew bold again. He licked past Spencer’s lips, lapped at the roof of his mouth. Spencer pressed him deeper into the mattress and pulled back with a little growl. His teeth nipped at Brendon’s lower lip and the sensation shot straight down Brendon’s spine.

“Tomorrow night,” Spencer said, breathless, and it took all of Brendon’s strength not to grab him by the collar and jerk him back down and say to hell with the rules and tradition. Instead he nodded shakily and held his tongue. “Oh,” Spencer sighed, voice pitched low in a way that made Brendon feel hot and helpless. “I love you.”

Brendon was struck speechless by the words, and it was a good thing Spencer scrambled out of bed then, because there was no way Brendon would have pushed him away again after hearing them. With Spencer gone, the bed was far too empty. Brendon rolled onto his stomach, hardness pressed into the mattress, and wished for the morning to come as quickly as possible.

*

For Brendon, the day of the wedding passed in a blur, rushed from one place to another. The morning found him surrounded by the godparents and Guy, fussing over his hair and face, and making sure that every individual fold in his clothing was to their liking. Once in his suit, with rouge and glossy lips, Pete placed the crown on his head, and this time, Brendon thought that perhaps it did fit him.

At the cathedral there was a crowd of thousands gathered to await the presentation of the prince and his new prince consort. Brendon’s name was common knowledge at this point, but he had yet to be formally introduced to the people. Now, seeing the masses, all his previous fears of inadequacy were brought back with a vengeance. 

“What am I _doing_?” Brendon murmured. He’d said that phrase more times than he could count in the past weeks.

Pete wasn’t very sympathetic to Brendon, and ushered him inside with a hand under his elbow. “Marrying your prince. Quit bitching, dude, I’m going to start thinking you’re not grateful.” 

That shut Brendon up pretty quickly, because there was no way Brendon could ever properly express just how grateful to Pete and Patrick and Ashlee he really was. They ushered him in and Greta, beaming pressed a bright bundle of flowers into his hands on the way in.

After the fact, Brendon remembered very little of the actual ceremony. He’d had his lines drilled into him, rehearsed them a million times. His walk down the aisle was made alone. All he could see was Spencer, resplendent in blue and white, waiting for him at the altar. He remembered clinging tightly to Spencer’s hand after they’d spoken their vows, and once Spencer had saluted him, their mouths still close enough they brushed with every word spoken. 

Brendon had been told to keep the kiss brief and respectable, but couldn’t care, when Spencer grinned and said, “I love you.” 

This time, Brendon managed to say it back, rushed and terrified and still amazed with disbelief, “I love you, too, Spencer, so much, I can’t--” Then Spencer kissed him again, and Brendon ignored the tittering and whispers. 

When they stepped out into the cold, bright morning after, the crowds greeted them with cheers. Brendon watched the sea of people calling his name in disbelief. There, among them, were familiar faces from the market. It all came down upon him at once, that what Shane had said was true. Brendon was their example, now.

Even though they were now married, Brendon still didn’t have a moment alone with Spencer for the rest of the day. At the feast following the royal breakfast and the meeting of the royal cabinet, where King Jeffrey bestowed Brendon with his new title, Brendon was seated at Spencer’s right hand side. The presence was reassuring, even as Brendon’s attention was demanded of Spencer’s visiting family--princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies--who wanted to know his most intimate secrets. 

They did dance, and Brendon was quite proud of the moves he’d mastered in the short time since their engagement. It would have been romantic, being held in Spencer’s arms and twirled around, if it weren’t for all the strangers watching them, no doubt passing judgment on Brendon based on every slight misstep, or how close he danced to Spencer. 

The weight of the circlet was heavy on his head. The shoes, much like the ones Pete had conjured for the ball, pinched at his toes, and the collar of his jacket rubbed Brendon’s neck in a most uncomfortable manner. When, sometime after eleven, Spencer leaned into him, murmuring that they sneak out, Brendon was equal to the suggestion. Most of the guests had been drinking since early afternoon, and it was easy to go undetected as they slipped from the ballroom.

Brendon had never been to Spencer’s apartments, and he didn’t exactly know how things would change with their marriage, but he already preferred these rooms to his own. They looked well lived in and comfortable, and Ryan and Jonathan’s touch was apparent here and there, surfaces covered in books in the sitting room. Brendon silently hoped that Spencer would be happy to live like a commoner now that he’d married one, sharing a single set of rooms each night rather than going to separate beds.

“I’ve wanted to give you your present for days,” Spencer said, leading Brendon further into the dark room. He took one of the lit candles from the wall and began to light others, illuminating the room more fully.

“But I didn’t get you any present,” Brendon protested.

Spencer paused to give Brendon a soft, slow kiss that made Brendon’s pulse speed up. “I don’t need anything other than what you’ve already given me.” Brendon blushed and ducked his head, but gave no further protest. “Your real present isn’t quite ready yet,” Spencer went on to say. “But I hope that this will give you pleasure, in the meantime.”

Brendon wanted to say that Spencer’s presence alone gave him more pleasure than he’d ever hoped to achieve in his lifetime, but then Spencer’s candle lit up the dark corner of the room and he tugged back a white sheet, and beneath it was a grand piano. 

“I had it made for you,” Spencer said, and Brendon grabbed him in an over-exuberant hug. Spencer didn’t seem to mind, hugging him back just as tightly. “Does that mean you like it?”

“I love it,” Brendon said, voice muffled in Spencer’s shirt. He lifted his chin to look Spencer in the eye. “I love you.”

Spencer’s smile softened and he dipped his head, brushing his lips over Brendon’s lightly.

Brendon’s fingers flexed in Spencer’s shirt. “Can we...can we go into your bedroom?” he asked, heart fluttering madly.

“Our bedroom,” Spencer corrected. He laced their fingers together, and drew Brendon along behind him.

The bedroom was already glowing softly from the lit candles and warm from the roaring fire in the hearth. Spencer’s bed--their bed--was high off the ground and the thick winter drapes were pinned back and covers turned down, waiting for them. Brendon rubbed his own arms, nervous but unafraid.

“Should I undress now?” Brendon asked, toying with the cuffs of his shirt.

Spencer didn’t answer outright. He stepped close to Brendon, crowding him back against the edge of the bed and gave him another of those wet, open-mouthed kisses that made Brendon shiver. Brendon let his hands drop to his side at Spencer’s urging, and Spencer slid the jacket from Brendon’s shoulders. It landed on the floor with a clatter of pearls and jewels, and Brendon couldn’t find it within himself to care.

As Spencer began on the buttons of Brendon’s shirt, Brendon’s brain caught up and he hurried to return the favour. Spencer’s kiss made Brendon dizzy, made his fingers clumsy, and the buttons were so tiny and slippery in his sweaty hands. After an eternity, he somehow managed to open the shirt and then Spencer’s skin was bare under Brendon’s touch and he wanted to touch _everywhere_.

Spencer broke away from Brendon’s mouth and Brendon couldn’t help the soft sound of protest that escaped him. Spencer made a humming sound of reassurance and trailed his lips down Brendon’s neck. His teeth scraped gently at Brendon’s pulse and Brendon’s hips jerked forward of their own volition. Spencer was hard against Brendon’s stomach, and Brendon just wanted to rub against him. Spencer bit down more roughly, then soothed the spot with his tongue. 

Brendon’s moan echoed embarrassingly loudly in the silence of the chamber, but when Spencer lifted his head, grinning broadly, Brendon forgot to be embarrassed. Spencer’s chest was bare before him, a long stretch of pale skin, and it was all for Brendon. He took Spencer’s lead and lowered his mouth to press a kiss against Spencer’s throat and another to the ridge of his collarbone. With his tongue he traced the sharp edge of it, swirling in Spencer’s clavicle and then down.

“Wait,” Spencer murmured. Brendon didn’t want to wait; he felt like they’d already waited far too long. His fingers skimmed down Spencer’s ribs, curled around the jut of his hipbones. Spencer’s chest heaved under Brendon’s mouth, and he cried out softly when Brendon drew his teeth over a nipple.

Spencer’s fingers threaded through Brendon’s hair and he gave a soft tug upwards. “Wait,” he said again. “I want to lie down with you.”

Brendon wanted anything that Spencer wanted, even if the thought of them lying down together was too overwhelming to really contemplate. He nodded, and Spencer began to unlace his breeches. Entirely without the permission of his brain, Brendon’s hands hurried to free himself from the remainder of his own clothing. It was easier to focus on than every inch of new skin that Spencer bared.

When he was naked, Brendon finally lifted his head to see Spencer already on the bed, pale form hidden in the shadows of the curtains. His eyes were almost entirely pupils as they traced the lines of Brendon’s body. Brendon felt his feet carry him forward, felt the soft comforter under his hands and then his knees. Spencer’s mouth was hanging open and Brendon had to kiss him, lick at the dip of his upper lip. He felt more than heard the hitch in Spencer’s breathing as he began to kiss back.

Spencer’s fingers fumbled over the covers to link briefly with Brendon’s, before continuing upward, over Brendon’s arms. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his quavering touch. It occurred to Brendon then that Spencer might be just as nervous as Brendon was, just as uncertain of what was to follow, and he found it reassuring. Spencer’s hands closed over the curve of Brendon’s shoulder and pulled him down.

Brendon caught himself with a hand on the pillow and shifted his weight, tossing a leg over Spencer to straddle him, and then it was just lots of warm, silky skin pressed to his own, making any sort of rational thought impossible. He tore his mouth from Spencer’s, panting, and returned to his earlier exploration of Spencer’s body. He had the strangest impulses, to bite Spencer’s jaw and suck on his ear. They were touches Brendon never would have thought of as pleasurable to give or receive, but they served to make Spencer moan and, in turn, make Brendon’s erection throb where it was pressed against Spencer’s stomach.

Every sucking kiss placed to Spencer’s throat turned the skin a dull pink and made Spencer writhe under Brendon. It was exhilarating, having Spencer trapped beneath him, muscles and skin shifting against Brendon’s thighs, solid and real. Brendon was dizzy; the air between them was stifling, and no matter how deeply Brendon breathed, he couldn’t get enough.

“Brendon,” Spencer panted. Brendon made himself sit back and meet Spencer’s gaze. 

Though the bed was warm, Brendon couldn’t stop shaking, and he felt as though his heart might burst free from his chest. Spencer reached out, his touch light on Brendon’s ribs and over his hips, settling in the crease of Brendon’s thighs. Brendon watched Spencer pet the skin there, and Brendon squirmed, uncertain of whether he wanted to move into or away from the touch, he was so sensitive. He was still trying to make up his mind when Spencer’s other hand wrapped around Brendon’s cock and gave a slow stroke.

“Oh, my--” Brendon’s voice cut out on a guttural moan, chin dropping to his chest, eyes fluttering closed. He wanted to tell Spencer how amazing it felt, wanted to return the favour, and he would, just as soon as he was capable of doing anything but thrust his hips forward into Spencer’s grip, over and over, until he was spending himself all over Spencer’s fist and stomach.

Brendon slumped forward, face pushed into Spencer’s throat, still shuddering from the force of it. He was vaguely embarrassed by the fact that he was smearing his come between them. Spencer draw a hand down Brendon’s back and Brendon felt as though every cell in his body rose to meet the touch. 

“That was...” Brendon couldn’t think of a word to adequately describe how it had felt, but he could show Spencer. He pushed himself up, laying kisses on Spencer’s jaw and cheek along the way. Spencer was smiling, a sweet, open smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look even more beautiful than usual. Brendon forgot himself in Spencer’s mouth for a moment, kissing him languidly.

As they kissed, Brendon slid a hand between them. Spencer’s stomach was slick from Brendon’s come and Brendon felt filthy and inexplicably aroused as he ran his hand through it. His fingers brushed lower, lightly tracing the shape of Spencer’s cock against his skin and Spencer’s hips stuttered up into the touch. 

Even with everything else they’d done, even with Spencer’s ring around Brendon’s finger, this felt unreal, as if Brendon was caught in a wonderful dream. His prince was pinned beneath him, covered in Brendon’s release, hard for him.

“Brendon,” Spencer mouthed into the kiss, urgency in his tone. “Please.”

Brendon didn’t mean to tease. “I just...” Brendon murmured, every word a whisper of a kiss. He pressed Spencer’s cock more firmly against his stomach and rolled his palm up the length. Spencer whimpered, head tossed back against his pillow. Watching him was just... “fascinating.”

Spencer chuckled faintly and reached out to run his hand through Brendon’s hair. Brendon smiled sheepishly and apologised by closing his fingers tightly around Spencer’s erection. “Yes,” Spencer hissed on an exhale. Brendon pressed his lips briefly to Spencer’s pulse and then leaned back to watch as he twisted his wrist upwards. Spencer’s face was a revelation to watch as he came undone by Brendon’s hand.

In the afterglow, Brendon curled up at Spencer’s side, tucked under his arm. Somehow it felt almost more intimate than their lovemaking, sweat dampened skin pressed close, drying in the air, breathing slowing in tandem. Brendon was already growing aroused again, or perhaps he’d never entirely come down. It didn’t feel as urgent as before, and the cuddling was nice. He turned his face into Spencer’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. He nosed through the long golden hair to press his open mouth against the skin.

After a moment, Spencer took a deep breath and rolled to face Brendon. Propped up on one arm, he looked down on Brendon and laid a hand to the curve of his neck, caressing downwards. His hand stopped low on Brendon’s stomach. There was hesitancy in his touch. “Would you like...do you want to...”

“Spencer.” Brendon turned onto his side as well, taking Spencer’s hand in his. He scooted even closer, slid a leg between Spencer’s, and leaned into kiss him. “Yes.”

*  
With their wedding so close to Christmas, the celebration spilled over, until one bled into the other. The visitors to court stayed, Brendon’s siblings among them. While Brendon would have preferred as much uninterrupted time alone with Spencer as possible, he was glad to be surrounded by those he loved. Besides, they more than made up for the time kept apart during the day at night, locking themselves in their quarters as soon as dinner was finished. Since they were newlyweds, no one seemed to mind.

The days will filled up with those eager to spend time with them. William and his Spaniard were among them, as well as nobles from the north and Spencer’s cousin Victoria. Brendon found them easier to talk to than most of the other nobles, and they, along with Ryan, Jon, Ian, and Dallon often went riding together, or spent long days in the music room, singing and playing from the newest musicals and compositions.

Brendon was so distracted by concerts and delicious dinners, and long nights by the fireplace with Spencer, their families, and all their new friends, he could go whole days without missing his parents.

Sometimes, though, palace life could be overwhelming and Brendon would hide himself in the library. Ryan and Dallon would often join him, and they would just read in silence for hours at a time until Spencer came and whisked Brendon off to their chambers.

And palace life certainly took some adjusting, but for the most part Brendon didn’t mind. He still didn’t know how to deal with being waited on hand and foot. Everyone around him seemed to take the servants for granted and went around as if they were invisible. 

Spencer wasn’t that way with Jonathan, and thankfully Jonathan and Shane managed to perform their valet duties without intruding on Spencer and Brendon’s privacy too very much. But Brendon was keenly aware that he was no better born than any of the men and women who served in the palace, and felt very out of place because of it.

None of that really mattered once evening fell. The nights grew longer as winter fully settled in, and Brendon and Spencer took full advantage of the fact, ensconced in their bed. It was an island isolated from the rest of the palace where they were just Brendon and Spencer, no titles or expectations.

Brendon worried occasionally, because he knew that nothing they’d done so far actually constituted as consummation of their marriage. He doubted anyone would question the legitimacy of their marriage at this point, but knowing that they _could_ left him feeling unsettled.

Brendon’s thoughts often strayed to the little bottle from Pete, kept safe and secret in the pocket of the only pair of trousers Brendon had left from his old life. Guy and Shane had despaired over them, but Brendon didn’t really care. Maybe he’d never wear them again, but they were _his_. Also, now a convenient hiding spot.

It was maybe silly to be embarrassed of Spencer finding the bottle, given how much they’d already done together. But, while in general the people of the kingdom didn’t care if two men were lovers, some more old-fashioned folks did. Brendon had heard enough of those people’s opinions in his life to feel vaguely ashamed to admit that he wanted Spencer to take him like Brendon was a woman. He didn’t even dare think about things going the other way. Certainly Spencer treated Brendon as if there were no difference between them, but Spencer was a prince by birth, and there was no way he’d let Brendon take him.

Spencer seemed perfectly content with what they were doing right now, and it wasn’t as if Brendon could give him an heir, anyway. Maybe Spencer wouldn’t _want_ to do that with Brendon. So Brendon spent a lot of time thinking about it, perhaps more than was healthy, and didn’t come to any great conclusions. 

Some nights, when Spencer had been touching him in just the right way to tease and draw out the pleasure, when Brendon was weak and dizzy with wanting him, the words almost found their way past his lips. There was an aching emptiness that no amount of pleasure filled. Then he’d see Spencer’s eyes dark in the shadows of their bed and think that as much as he loved Spencer, there were so many parts of each other they didn’t know yet, and the fear caught up in Brendon’s throat.

*

Brendon’s first official royal duty was to visit churches with Spencer to pass out gifts to the orphans. As intimidating as Brendon found his new role, and for all that he didn’t know how to deal with people addressing him as Prince Brendon, he didn’t mind at all when it meant he could help children like himself. Perhaps he’d managed to avoid the orphanage, but he had been no less an orphan in his aunt and uncle’s care. 

Even more daunting a duty was trying to come up with a gift for his new husband. Brendon had never been particularly good at giving gifts. Luckily his parents had been happy with the silly handmade things he’d presented them with in his childhood. 

Spencer could have anything his heart desired, and Brendon still didn’t actually have any of his own money. The queen had explained that he would have access to some funds in Spencer’s account. Brendon hadn’t really understood what she meant, or when he’d get it. He didn’t want to press the issue, mostly because he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually be able to bring himself to spend any of the money in it.

Ryan and Pete were singularly unhelpful, making all kinds of lewd suggestions about Brendon offering himself up as a gift. It was ridiculous, because Spencer had to already know that Brendon would gladly give all of himself, in whatever way Spencer wanted it. 

In the end, Brendon thought back on his own parents. His mother had always give his father handmade slippers lined in felted wool and embroidered with his initials. It was a tradition passed down from her mother, and one she’d passed onto Kara, as well. Brendon’s lack of sewing skills aside, Spencer hardly needed new slippers, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Guy was helpful enough in procuring the appropriate materials, and even held his tongue when he saw the finished product.

On the twenty-second, all of the royal family went to their country castle. Brendon had thought, it being in the country, it would be less grand than the London residence, but he had been wrong. 

King Jeffrey dragged all the men out hunting one afternoon. Somehow Ryan managed to escape, but instead of telling Brendon how, he just looked infuriatingly smug and holed up next to the fire with a book.

“It’s a bonding experience,” Dallon smirked. 

“My dad never took me hunting,” Brendon said. He could think of better ways to bond.

In the end, it turned out Jeffrey wasn’t much of a hunter, either, and really the afternoon consisted of them sipping coffee and bird-watching. Before they returned to the castle, Jeffrey swore them all to secrecy. Brendon had the feeling Ginger knew already, if her teasing about their lack of game was any indication.

They played board games in the evening and took turns singing as Brendon, Kara, and Jackie played piano for Ian, Ryan, and Jon to sing along. A grand Christmas tree was set up in the salon and they all decorated it together. There were many beautiful, delicate ornaments crafted of blown glass, gold, and jewels, but among them were ones handmade by Spencer and the twins.

It wasn’t anything like Christmastime had been with Brendon’s family, but he could see himself growing used to it.

*

“I was thinking we could wait until Boxing Day to exchange our gifts,” Spencer said, when they’d retired after Christmas Eve dinner.

Brendon considered it as he finished brushing his teeth. There was no reason to argue, especially if it meant exchanging their gifts in private. Brendon would rather make a fool of himself in front of Spencer only, than the entire royal family. Still, he was curious. 

“What’s special about Boxing Day?” he asked, when he climbed into bed.

“Do you remember our wedding night,” Spencer began, drawing close to Brendon’s side under the warm comforter. Brendon flushed and Spencer gave him a wicked grin before continuing, “I told you your real present wasn’t ready yet.”

“But,” Brendon sputtered, “But, Spencer, you’ve already given me—I mean, so much, the piano was too much, as it is, and I never wanted anything anyway, other than you.”

Spencer cut him off with a kiss, which both calmed and excited Brendon at once. He lost his train of thought as the kiss lingered, and deepened. Spencer shifted, easing Brendon back against the pillows and looming over him. By the time they parted, Spencer was settled in Brendon’s lap. He began working on the lacing of Brendon’s nightgown as he spoke.

“The piano was as much for me, as it was for you,” he said. “I love to hear you play, and to see the pleasure it brings you.” His finger stroked over the bare skin he’d revealed, and Brendon shuddered. 

“Spencer,” Brendon said, trying to keep his voice level, because as much as he loved how his body reacted to Spencer’s touch—as much as he loved that Spencer _wanted_ to touch him—there were things he needed to say. “I can’t give you the sort of gifts you give me.”

Again, Spencer ducked his head, licking past Brendon’s lips this time. He tasted of the hot chocolate they’d had after dinner, listening to Ryan tell Christmas stories. The rich, bitter flavour was taking some getting used to, but Brendon loved the way it tasted in Spencer’s mouth.

“I don’t know why I bother dressing for bed at all,” Brendon murmured. He was new to this teasing, but the thrill in his chest was addictive, especially when Spencer chuckled, lips brushing down Brendon’s throat. 

“Because you know how much I love undressing you?” It still made Brendon’s heart race to hear Spencer say such things. He obligingly lifted his hips when Spencer began to tug at the hem of his gown, raised his arms above his head so Spencer could draw it off and cast it aside.

Brendon lay back fully as Spencer got up on his knees, shifting his weight side to side as he gathered up his own nightgown. It got all caught up somewhere around Spencer’s shoulders, making him sway unsteadily, and Brendon brought his hands up in reflex, framing Spencer’s hips to steady him. He swallowed hard, thumbs brushing lightly over the skin as Spencer continued to fight with his gown.

“That’s why you undo the buttons, first,” Brendon said, and his voice came out a little breathless. It wasn’t as if Brendon hadn’t touched Spencer like this what seemed like a million times already, but the position was different, Spencer half-hard, so close to Brendon’s face.

Spencer grumbled something unintelligible, finally getting one hand free, then the other, pulling off the offending garment and leaving that beautiful hair in disarray. In a second he’d sink back down into Brendon’s lap, lay them out side by side, and then Brendon didn’t know when he’d find the courage to try this again. So he didn’t think about what Spencer’s reaction might be, just raised up on his elbows and closed his lips around the head of Spencer’s erection, suckling.

“F—fuck,” Spencer cried, hands flying out to brace against the headboard, and his hips jerked forward.

Brendon drew back and met his gaze, startled. Spencer had never used that word, or any obscenity before, in Brendon’s presence, and certainly that couldn’t be a good thing. Spencer was panting, cheeks red, eyes wide. 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Brendon said. He didn’t know the first thing about what was proper bedroom etiquette, and he was mostly going on what felt right. 

And it _had_ felt right, just that brief moment. Brendon was achingly hard, but too terrified to move. His hands fell away from Spencer’s hips to clutch the sheets. “I just—I didn’t think—”

There was something in the way Spencer looked at Brendon, as if he could read every thought Brendon had, written out on his face. Then Spencer drew back, and Brendon’s heart started racing again, this time in fear. He wanted to reach out and pull Spencer close again, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t know what he’d do if Spencer wouldn’t come to him.

“You think too much, is the problem,” Spencer said. Before Brendon could muster a reply, Spencer had pushed back the comforter, and Brendon watched, heart in his throat, as Spencer slid down the length of Brendon’s body and took his cock in hand. “Allow me to remedy that at once.”

Spencer’s beautiful, princely mouth was far too lovely to be debased in such a way, and Brendon wanted to protest. But then Spencer drew Brendon’s cock in until his lips brushed his own fist, and Brendon was left speechless. He wanted to thrust upwards, but absolutely would not allow himself to do so. His body spasmed with the effort to remain still. There was a helpless keening noise he could not contain, rising up from his chest. 

“Spencer,” Brendon pleaded, “you can’t,” because Spencer was his _prince_. He pushed feebly at Spencer’s head. Spencer began to suck, his tongue pressed hard against Brendon’s cock, every small movement designed to rob Brendon of his reason and control. 

It was unlike anything Brendon could have ever imagined. There was nothing he could do but rock into it. His hands wouldn’t listen to him, no longer pushing at Spencer. Instead, his fingers threaded through Spencer’s hair, squeezing tight, holding him down, tugging him closer.

“Please,” Brendon heard himself saying, voice completely foreign. He didn’t even know what he was asking. He began shuddering, and the pleasure tore through him almost violently, making him curl up off the mattress, hugging Spencer’s head to him and he pulsed into Spencer’s mouth.

Brendon fell back against the pillows, drawing gasping breaths. He couldn’t seem to make his fingers loosen their grip in Spencer’s hair. Spencer slowly drew back, every drag of his lips against Brendon’s sensitive skin making Brendon quiver. He placed soft kisses over Brendon’s hips, low over his stomach, nipped at Brendon’s pelvic bone. 

Finally, Spencer rested his chin against Brendon’s thigh, and his eyes lifted to meet Brendon’s. “I’ll say it as often as I need to, until it gets through,” Spencer said. “There is nothing you could ask me for that I would not give you, within our bedroom, or without.”

Brendon wanted to believe it was the truth, and he certainly believed that Spencer believed it. Perhaps that was only because Spencer hadn’t even fathomed the things Brendon wanted. 

“I’ll try to remember that,” Brendon promised. He smoothed his fingers through Spencer’s hair, down his cheek, and hooked them under Spencer’s chin. He gave a gentle prod, lifting Spencer’s face as he wriggled lower in the bed. 

Spencer met him halfway, a familiar, delicious weight pressing Brendon into the bed with his kisses. Brendon wanted to tell Spencer how much he loved him, but the words felt small and insignificant right now. 

Instead, he clasped his arms around Spencer’s shoulders, pressed kisses along Spencer’s chest, and rolled Spencer beneath him. Even that still felt like such a bold move. Spencer was hard and leaking against Brendon’s thigh, rolling his hips in time with the salty sweep of his tongue against Brendon’s.

Spencer had taken Brendon in his mouth, and Brendon wanted to return the gesture, but Spencer was clinging so tightly to him, pulling him back for more kisses every time Brendon’s mouth strayed. Brendon gave up fighting and worked his leg between Spencer’s. He got a hand on Spencer’s hip, and rocked them together, until Spencer came, biting and tugging on Brendon’s lip.

They were silent, both recovering, and Brendon rolled off Spencer to lie beside him. He kept his eyes closed, still embarrassed and confused, and wondering if it would always be like this. Brendon wished he could just cast aside all his feelings of inadequacy down to the differences in his and Spencer’s different upbringings, all his inhibitions. They were husbands, now, and that should be enough.

Times like this, though, lying in the dark, sweaty and sated, and so unsure, Brendon felt like Spencer was a stranger to him. He couldn’t figure out how to reconcile the man he’d fallen in love with in those brief, stolen moments at the market with who Spencer was in the castle, surrounded by the luxury and ceremony of his station. Or the sweet and hesitant lover, with the man who said _fuck_ and took Brendon so readily in his mouth. Just thinking of it, Brendon’s stomach twisted, while his cock twitched in interest.

“I wish you would just say what you’re thinking, that makes you frown like that,” Spencer whispered. He traced a gentle thumb across Brendon’s brow.

Brendon wasn’t sure Spencer knew what he was asking for. “I was thinking how much I love you,” Brendon said, “and that I don’t deserve you at all.”

Spencer kissed him, hard and fast, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it made Brendon’s skin tingle. “Setting aside the fact that you somehow think you’re unworthy of me,” Spencer said, scowling, “you’re what I _want_ , Brendon. I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks I deserve. Wasn’t it you who told me to follow my heart?”

Brendon swallowed, finding it difficult to meet Spencer’s gaze. He could only remember a few times Spencer had ever been anything other than pleased with him. The annoyance was always over this same old thing, when Brendon slipped and referred to Spencer as _your highness_ , or said something self-deprecatory. Right now, Spencer seemed more than annoyed, he sounded _angry_.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said  
.  
“For what?” Spencer snapped. “For sucking my cock?” Brendon flinched, even as his traitorous body responded with excitement. “Or for coming in my mouth?” He breathed out the words into the curve of Brendon’s neck, punctuated them with a sharp bite. 

“I want you, Brendon,” he said, and his tone had changed entirely, soft, pleading, vulnerable. “I want all of you, all those parts you keep hidden away from me because you don’t think they’re appropriate, or messy, or whatever you tell yourself. I’m yours, Brendon, don’t you see that? I thought you understood, being a prince, that’s just my title, and I can’t escape it with anyone but you.”

Brendon wanted to cry. “I’ll be better,” he promised. “I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted. I’ll be better.”

“I don’t want you _better_ ,” Spencer shouted, sitting back on his heels. “Goddamn it, Brendon, you—” Brendon drew the covers close to him, waiting for Spencer to tell him to leave, tell him it had been a mistake.

Spencer took his hand, softening. “Please, Brendon. I feel as though I’ve let you down. You draw away from me whenever I say or do something that you don’t think is right, or proper, for a prince, and I thought you understood,” he repeats. “No one makes me feel the way you do, like I _can_ say and do these things. You make me feel bold, and then you rebuff me.” 

Brendon shook his head. “I won’t. I won’t do it any more,” Brendon said. Then, in a rush, before he could censor himself, because it ached to know he was causing Spencer any pain, “I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing. I’m so scared I’ll say what I’m thinking and change your mind.”

“Do you think so little of me?” Spencer asked. “I pledged myself to you before God, for all our lives.”

“It isn’t that, Spencer,” Brendon said, but he was confused and uncertain of the truth of the statement. Maybe he had doubted Spencer. He hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but now that Spencer said it, it was all Brendon could see.

“Just tell me what you were really thinking, Brendon,” Spencer said. He reached out, fingers cold on Brendon’s arm. 

How had they come to this, from the earlier warmth and ease, teasing one another as they undressed? 

“The things I want from you,” Brendon said, before he’d even made a conscious decision to speak, tongue heavy in his mouth. “That’s what I was thinking about.” 

Spencer scooted closer, his thigh chilled from the air. Brendon laid his hand over the skin without thinking, and it was so soft. He let his touch shift higher. “I’ve wanted to do that to you for so long.”

“Do…suck me, you mean?” Spencer asked. He flushed at the words, and it made Brendon feel hot despite the cold. How did Spencer say it so shamelessly one moment, and blush over it, the next?

“Yes,” Brendon agreed, even though he was so terribly ashamed with himself.

“Please say it,” Spencer murmured, leaning in closer still, breath stirring Brendon’s fringe.

Brendon shook his head firmly, cheeks on fire. “Please,” Spencer said again, lips brushing Brendon’s temple, then his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. “It’s only me. You can say anything to me, Brendon, please trust me.”

Brendon thought of the way it made his heart race to hear Spencer use those words. Was he being unfair, expecting Spencer to react any differently, because he was a prince? Spencer just wanted to be a man with him, and Brendon kept clinging to the title. “I’ve wanted,” Brendon breathed, closing his eyes.

“Tell me,” Spencer said. 

“I—” Brendon shook his head again. “I can’t say—”

Spencer laced their fingers and gave a tug. Brendon opened his eyes, watching Spencer lie down. “Show me.”

That, Brendon could do. He moved to over Spencer, and Spencer spread his legs, letting Brendon settle between them. Brendon let his hands come to rest on the smooth, soft skin of Spencer’s inner thighs, a touch familiar to both of them by now. Spencer was only half-hard, but with every second growing harder. 

Brendon leaned in, took a deep breath, and told himself very firmly that Spencer was worth overcoming all his embarrassment and misgivings, and surrender to what they both wanted. He drew his tongue up Spencer’s length, startled and turned on by the way Spencer’s cock jumped at the touch. Brendon tried again, teasing his tongue against Spencer’s foreskin, becoming tauter with each touch. 

Spencer let out a harsh breath and Brendon glanced up at him from beneath his lashes. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, watching Brendon with heavy eyes. Brendon hooked his thumb around the base of Spencer’s cock, angling just right for Brendon to fit his mouth down the length.

How had he resisted this as long as he had? The hot, silky glide of Spencer against his tongue was so better than Brendon’s imaginings. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Spencer’s face, the way Spencer’s brows knotted together, and how his mouth formed the panting cries he made. How had Brendon withheld this pleasure from them both?

Suddenly, Brendon cursed himself for not paying attention to the advice Pete and Ryan had offered. He wanted to know all the ways to make Spencer unravel. He’d thought before that he’d been giving all of himself to Spencer, but saw how untrue that was. No longer was he ashamed of saying or doing those things that might bring Spencer pleasure, instead ashamed of his own naivety and shyness.

Spencer kept biting his lip, on long, drawn out fricatives ending in harsh, swallowed clicks. Brendon couldn’t help but wonder if he was holding back from crying out for fear of Brendon’s reaction. He drew back, momentarily distracted by lapping at the liquid weeping from the head of Spencer’s cock, which made Spencer toss his head side to side in a restless sort of way.

“I want,” he tried to say, around his mouthful, and Spencer thrust upwards. Brendon hummed, just to make Spencer’s hips jump, draw forth more of those desperate, aborted _fffff—k_ sounds. He let Spencer fall from between his lips, and tried again, “I’ve wanted to suck your cock, for so long.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, nostrils flaring. “I’ve wanted to feel you inside me, Spencer.” It came out hesitant and sounded terribly awkward to his own ears. Telling himself he was unashamed and actually being able to control the way his voice caught and his cheeks burnt were two very different things, but Brendon made himself continue, as his fist closed around Spencer’s cock, jerking. “In my mouth, in my…” his voice abandoned him altogether, and Spencer reached for him. 

“Come here,” Spencer groaned, grabbing Brendon wherever he could, one hand on his shoulder, one in his hair. “Brendon.”

Brendon resisted, lowering again to mouth along Spencer’s length. “I’m not finished,” he said, and drew Spencer back between his lips. 

The hand in Brendon’s hair tightened almost to the point of pain, but the sensation felt like a jolt straight down Brendon’s side to his own erection, pressed against the sheets. He wanted to go to Spencer, but he wanted the satisfaction of Spencer releasing in his mouth, more. It didn’t take much longer. Brendon had barely gotten an opportunity to enjoy the texture of Spencer in his mouth as he sucked, until Spencer was arching off the mattress, coming on Brendon’s tongue.

Brendon fought the immediate urge to gag, swallowing quickly instead, and sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Spencer was sprawled boneless beneath him, hands fallen limply at his sides, and he was looking at Brendon with wonder. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Brendon said, because it could go both ways, this uncertainty, Spencer had to realize.

“Fuck, Brendon,” Spencer said, and instead of flinching this time, the words startled a bark of laughter from Brendon. After a second, Spencer began laughing, too, and Brendon collapsed in Spencer’s arms, full of disbelief over the twists and turns of the evening. Discussion of Christmas and wedding gifts seemed a million years away.

“Come here,” Spencer moaned, tugging Brendon closer and reaching between them to stroke Brendon’s cock. “Fuck, Brendon.”

Brendon’s chuckles turned into moans and he bucked his hips into Spencer’s touch. He closed his eyes and kissed Spencer’s shoulder, and when Spencer moved down his body this time, Brendon trembled in anticipation, gasped when Spencer swallowed him down.

This time when Spencer curled up at Brendon’s side, licking at his lips as if chasing Brendon’s taste, Brendon turned into him, lacing an arm over the curve of Spencer’s hips. 

“I…” he cleared his throat and made himself continue, “When you came to the market, I couldn’t help but notice—I was so ashamed of myself, because you’re the prince, and all I could think about was your smile, and the colour of your eyes, and the way your hair glistened in the sunlight. And as if that weren’t bad enough, I’d dream of you at night, imagine having you like this, and it was horrible, Spencer.”

Spencer made a face, and Brendon hurried on to reassure him. “I mean, I never could have imagined you’d want me back. Never as anything more than a friend. When I was awake I didn’t let myself think about it, but my dreams betrayed me, and it was horrible. I think, sometimes, that I’m still caught back there. It hasn’t entirely become real, that I get to have you.”

“Brendon,” Spencer said, and kissed him softly, then rested his cheek against Brendon’s shoulder.

Slowly, Brendon felt something inside unclenching. “I love you so much, Spencer,” he said, helplessly. “You can’t blame me for being scared.”

“I don’t,” Spencer said quickly. “I don’t blame you. Just trust me, more.” Brendon nodded, pressing his cheek to Spencer’s soft hair. 

It was late, the whole castle still and silent. Beyond the curtains of their bed, Brendon could hear frozen rain slapping against the window. It must be Christmas by now. Brendon was tired, but he wasn’t ready for sleep. Spencer’s hand kept skating up and down Brendon’s side, tickling over his ribs in an absent sort of way. They’d held enough other enough times before now, but for the first time it finally sunk in, Spencer was his _husband_.

Brendon pushed up on his hands, suddenly, scooting to the edge of the bed, dodging Spencer as he reached for him.

“Where are you going?” Spencer asked, sitting up, when Brendon slipped past the curtains. 

“I want to give you your gift now,” Brendon said. He went into the study, taking the slippers from their hiding place in his desk drawer.

Spencer was giving him a strange look when Brendon came back to bed. “Is this okay?” Brendon asked. “You can still give me my gift on Boxing Day.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Spencer said. He took the gift from Brendon, tugging on the ribbon and parting the tissue paper. 

The slippers were made of pale blue satin, the same colour of Spencer’s heavy winter robe and the ribbons that lined most of Spencer’s nightgowns. Brendon certainly didn’t have his mother’s skill at embroidery, but he’d done his best with Spencer’s monogram. The detail on the crown wasn’t anywhere near the quality of work on Spencer’s other belongings, but Brendon suddenly didn’t care. He was proud, anyway.

“My mother used to make a pair for my father, every Christmas. She promised that so long as she was alive, his slippers would never wear out,” Brendon said, as Spencer traced a long, elegant finger along the curve of the S, picked out in silver thread.

Spencer’s hand wrapped around the back of Brendon’s neck, fingers sinking into his hair. He pulled Brendon close to his chest, and Brendon closed his eyes against the damp, stinging sensation.

“I know there’s nothing I could give you that you couldn’t buy for yourself,” Brendon continued, speaking into the hollow of Spencer’s throat, as they hugged. “But you’re _my_ husband, so it’s my duty to make sure your feet never go cold, so long as I’m alive. I’ll keep you warm.”

Spencer was silent for so long, Brendon had to draw away to look at him. There was a pensive expression on Spencer’s face. Brendon wondered if he’d got the gift wrong, after all. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Spencer said, “I—only hope you won’t find my gift lacking in comparison.”

Brendon laughed. He butted his head to Spencer’s. “I somehow doubt that will be the case.”

“These are the best gift anyone has ever given me,” Spencer said, and he sounded quite earnest, but Brendon just laughed harder.

“Oh, I doubt that very much, too.”

“Don’t,” Spencer said, and kissed him once, and then again, and again. “Trust me.” He sat the slippers gingerly on the bedside table, and pulled Brendon with him under the covers, cuddled close to keep the cold at bay and kept kissing Brendon in a way that Brendon had come to learn felt like comfort and home, at last.

*

Spencer wore Brendon’s slippers all throughout Christmas day, and it gave Brendon a warm glow every time he caught sight of them. He doubted anyone else noticed or cared, but he almost preferred it that way.

A sort of calm had settled over Brendon the evening before and it lasted now. He was comfortable in his skin like he never had been before, tucked close to Spencer’s side as their family and friends exchanged gifts after dinner. 

When Spencer laid his cheek against Brendon’s head, Brendon was even so bold as to turn his face into Spencer’s neck, breathing deeply, and pressed a quick kiss there. Spencer granted him a smile that made Brendon’s toes curl, made heat pulse low in his stomach. They made their excuses shortly thereafter, and though Brendon was sure everyone knew precisely why they were going to bed early, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

They had breakfast alone in their bed chambers on Boxing Day, feeding each other and getting more on the bed and their bodies than in their mouths. Brendon couldn’t help giggling, even as Spencer’s mouth traced lines of cream down his throat.

After, they shared a bath, and Brendon couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of it before, though he would definitely make sure it happened regularly now. It was absolutely delicious, the hot, slick slide of skin on skin. He straddled Spencer’s lap, clinging around his shoulders as they rocked together. Every time he slipped, fingers digging into Spencer’s back, ass rubbing over Spencer’s cock, he thought of the oil Pete had given him. He couldn’t wait to get back to the palace.

*

Dallon, Ian, and Brendon’s siblings all left to return home from the country castle, promising to visit again soon. Alone with Spencer in their private carriage, Brendon watched the scenery pass, Spencer half asleep with his head on Brendon’s shoulder, and he was content and happy. 

It was selfish of him, to miss the others already, when he already had Spencer. Not to mention Shane and Ryan and Jon. Still, it was so, so tempting for Brendon to use his new position to make it so they could all live in London year round. 

As if sensing Brendon’s thoughts, Spencer pressed his face into Brendon’s neck, breathing deeply, and said, “You can appoint your own valet, you know. Whomever you like.”

“I like Shane,” Brendon said.

Spencer lifted his head enough to smile sleepily at Brendon. “You can have more than one.”

“I can’t have _three_ ,” Brendon said. “And, anyway, it would be weird, having Ian and Dallon work for me.” 

“Do you see Ryan doing any work?” Spencer muttered. “Because if you have, I’d really like to know. It might be the first sign of the end times.”

Brendon laughed and rubbed his cheek against the crown of Spencer’s head. “That is because Ryan has Jon wrapped around his finger.” Spencer hummed his amused agreement.

“There are other positions they could fill. Or they could simply stay with us, indefinitely,” Spencer said.

“Maybe,” Brendon said. “Maybe in a few months, I’ll invite them to stay. But as much as I’ve enjoyed having them and my family around, I’m looking forward to spending time with just you.” 

“Yeah?” Spencer asked, and lifted his head again. There was a sweet, private grin on his face that made Brendon’s stomach drop in the most pleasant way.

Brendon nodded his head, brushing his lips to Spencer’s. Spencer shifted, pressing Brendon back against the wall of the carriage, deepening the kiss with intent. Fighting the initial urge to push Spencer away, Brendon relaxed, open his mouth to Spencer’s questing tongue. Maybe it wasn’t proper, doing this in a carriage, but maybe what was proper didn’t matter.

*

Brendon woke when the carriage came to a stop with a jerk. There was weak light leaking from around the curtain. It was too quiet here, though. There was no sound of servants or other horses and wheels on the gravel. Brendon stretched and asked around a yawn, “Why’ve we stopped?”

Spencer grabbed his hand and tugged him along as he climbed down from the carriage. “We’re home,” he said.

They were standing before a moderately sized stone mansion. Warm, welcoming light glowed in the downstairs windows, and two women and a man were waiting at the open door.

“Spence,” Brendon said, looking around in wonder. The garden was a lovely green even so deep in winter, and there was a pond just off in the distance, right before a wooded area. At the end of the drive was a high stone gate, beyond which Brendon could see a busy London street, but it was too far for the noise to carry. “What is this?”

“I told you,” Spencer said, giving Brendon’s hand another tug. “We’re home. Come on.” 

Brendon allowed himself to be led up the steps to the entrance, where the waiting servants bowed and curtsied and said, “Your Royal Highnesses.”

“Brendon, this is Cassandra, our butler; Robert, our chef, and Mrs. Steele, our housekeeper.” Brendon offered his hand for shaking, and after a brief hesitation, they each took it, in turn. 

“Dinner will be ready on the hour, Sir,” Robert said, following them into the entrance hall.

The place was still far nicer than any Brendon had set foot in before meeting Spencer, but it wasn’t as overwhelmingly opulent as the palace or castle. “Very good, Robert. Cassandra, have our trunks brought to the master bedroom. I’m going to show Brendon around.”

Spencer led Brendon to the first room off the hall, a parlour where a fire was crackling merrily in the hearth. Brendon’s piano was sitting by the window in the corner and Brendon went to it, drawing his hand over it wonderingly.

“What…” 

“Your present,” Spencer said, gesturing around him.

“My present is a house?” Brendon said blankly. He had to be misunderstanding.

“I’ve seen how uncomfortable you are at the palace, with all the servants and all the visitors to court,” Spencer said. “Besides Cassandra, Robert, and Mrs. Steele, there is only Zachary and two maids, and they all have apartments at the back of the house. Shane, Jon, and Ryan will be staying in the main house, but they’ll only enter our bedroom at our biding. And all the grounds staff live in cottages at the back of the property.”

“But—but you’re the prince, don’t you have to—I mean, shouldn’t you—” Brendon wasn’t even sure what he meant to ask.

“I can carry out my duties from here as easily as from the palace,” Spencer said. “Of course we’ll still spend plenty of time there. Mother will expect us at dinner regularly, and the twins will probably pester us if we don’t come around at least twice a week.”

Spencer came to stand beside Brendon and placed his hand against the small of his back. “Let me show you the rest.”

*

After a day of travel, being shocked by the _house_ Spencer had given him, and stuffing himself on the delicious meal Robert had prepared, Brendon was ready to sleep for ages.

Most of their possessions had been moved while they were at the country palace and were now in their smaller, cosier bedroom. Someone had unpacked and organised everything so that it was almost as if they’d been living here all along. Brendon left his clothing in a pile at the bedside and flopped down onto the soft, warm mattress with a groan.

“Don’t go to sleep on me yet,” Spencer murmured. He climbed up to straddle Brendon’s hips, skin cool and smooth. His teeth scraped up the column of Brendon’s throat, pausing to suck at his pulse, before closing around his earlobe.

Brendon hummed sleepily, eyes still closed, let his hands ghost up Spencer’s thighs. “Haven’t you had enough?” he asked. Even saying, Brendon could feel his body responding to Spencer’s attention.

“I never have enough of you,” Spencer said, voice low and deep next to Brendon’s ear. It made goosebumps rise on Brendon’s arms, made his skin prickle hotly. He made a weak sound of embarrassed protest. 

“It’s true,” Spencer said. “And now that we have our own home, I can keep you in bed all day, if I want.” 

Brendon laughed and opened his eyes to see Spencer giving him a rakish grin. A jolt went through him, and just like that, Brendon wasn’t as tired anymore. He reached up to wrap an arm around Spencer’s neck and drew him in for a kiss.

*

“And then you’ll be leaving for Scotland for Easter celebration, before heading on to Germany, then France, then Italy, and finishing in Rome,” Ryan listed off the locations with a sort of bored drawl. Brendon, who’d never been any further north than Blissford, or south than London, was feeling more overwhelmed.

“That seems like a lot,” he said.

Jon shrugged. “They’ve moved Spain back until the Duke’s wedding, so actually that gives you a bit more flexibility in your schedule.”

Brendon rubbed his forehead, but it didn’t do anything for his building headache. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Spencer got up from his desk and came to stand behind the sofa. His fingers were strong and sure, working on the tense muscles of Brendon’s shoulders and neck. “Your people love you, and so will everyone else.”

“Our people love _you_ ,” Brendon said. “So they’ll tolerate me.”

“I don’t know how you married someone so stupid,” Ryan muttered. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

Brendon glared. He was getting to know Ryan better, but his sense of humour often seemed to be lacking. “What Ryan is _trying_ to say,” Shane said, “is that all the celebrating after the wedding, all gifts sent to the palace specifically for you, all the nobles clamouring for your attention, would suggest a certain fondness for you.”

“Well,” Brendon said, and crossed his arms. He was irritable and tired of all the public appearances in his own country. As much as the idea of travel appealed to him, all the meeting with foreign politicians and royals was terribly daunting. 

“It’s just so soon. We’ve barely been married. I’ve been having lessons for a couple months. Surely it would be better if I didn’t go. What if I say or do the wrong thing and start some sort of international incident?”

“Alright,” Spencer said. He reached over the back of the sofa to lace his fingers through Brendon’s. “I think I’m taking my husband to bed.”

“Spencer,” Brendon hissed, dismayed by the knowing looks on Jon and Ryan’s faces. At least Shane had the decency to pretend not to hear. Brendon took back his hand and hurried from the room and up the stairs.

“They’d know what we were doing whether I said it or not,” Spencer reasoned, following at a slower pace. “And either way, they don’t care.”

“Still,” Brendon muttered. He was in a bad mood and not ready to be talked out of it. 

Spencer caught Brendon around the waist, right in the middle of the hall, and jerked him close. Brendon fought the kiss at first, but it was hard to remember why he was struggling when Spencer’s tongue was teasing past Brendon’s lips, slicking hotly against his own. 

“I want to try something,” Spencer whispered, between nipping kisses. He walked Brendon backwards until he bumped into their open bedroom door.

Brendon made a noise of agreement. Generally the things Spencer wanted to try ended up feeling pretty amazing. He kicked the door closed behind them. “Whatever you want,” he said, and thought about the oil Pete had given him.

“If you don’t like it—” Spencer started, and Brendon stopped him, pushing Spencer back on the bed and climbing on top of him, leaning in. It was distraction enough, apparently. Brendon lost himself in the kiss, in the slow grind of Spencer’s cock against his, still delicious through layers of clothing. 

Brendon had to keep sucking kisses down Spencer’s throat, in the little hollow between collarbone and shoulder, but never strayed too far from Spencer’s mouth. Spencer kept trying to draw away, sink down Brendon’s body, and it was tempting, but Brendon wanted to kiss Spencer forever.

Spencer rolled them over, laughed against Brendon’s mouth. “We’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t let me go,” he said.

Pouting, Brendon released the grip he had on Spencer’s shoulders. He meant to say something, but got distracted when Spencer began to undress. He’d lost count of how many times they’d done this, but the sight of Spencer naked still did funny things to Brendon’s body.

“It works better when you undress, too,” Spencer said.

Brendon made a grumbling noise but got up on his knees, fighting with the buttons on his shirt. Spencer scooted closer, working on the fastenings of Brendon’s trousers and with some tugging and wiggling, they both got Brendon naked. He’d barely adjusted to the change before Spencer pinned him back to the bed and went down on him.

This, Brendon would never get used to. This amazing, moist heat that made Brendon’s whole body tremble and surge. He sank his fingers in Spencer’s hair, nails scraping along Spencer’s scalp.

But Spencer didn’t stay there long. With one last suck, Spencer released Brendon’s cock. His tongue traced over Brendon’s scrotum. Brendon made an undignified, high-pitched noise, squirming. 

Spencer straightened up and stretched over Brendon to fumble with the bedside table, jerking the drawer open. He retrieved a bottle that, when uncorked, released a vaguely sweet scent and was clear when Spencer poured it in his hand. “Okay?” he asked.

Brendon nodded, biting his lip. There was some apprehension, but that was nothing compared to the way his stomach kept turning over and over in anticipation. Spencer got down on his elbows between Brendon’s spread legs. The first touch made him clamp his legs together as much as he could with Spencer’s shoulders in the way.

“We don’t have to,” Spencer said.

“No, just.” Brendon took a deep, steadying breath and let his legs fall open, knees hitting the sheets. “I need to get used to it.” He laid his open palms against his thighs, holding them down when Spencer tried again.

At first it tickled more than anything, which wasn’t exactly the reaction Spencer was going for, probably. His fingers circled lightly, and Brendon trembled with the effort to stay still. Then Spencer pushed forward with two fingers and it stopped tickling.

It burned, and it felt really strange, but it felt good, too. Good, slick and tight, and not enough. Spencer sucked down Brendon’s cock again as his fingers stretched and crooked, inching deeper so, so slowly. Brendon worked his hips back, trying to take more, and when that didn’t work, whined, “Spencer, more. You can—more.”

Spencer pulled back, sitting up a little. His fingers were unmoving and Brendon felt tense and on edge and a little desperate. “Ryan said—”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you talked about this with Ryan,” Brendon muttered.

“Well, how else was I supposed to know what to do?” Spencer asked, a little testily. “And he said to go slow.”

Brendon just grabbed Spencer’s hand and poured more of the oil over his fingers. “I’ll let you know if you need to slow down,” he said.

For a second, Spencer looked like he was going to argue. Brendon wasn’t above begging, if that’s what he would take. He couldn’t stop the little whine curling up in the back of his throat, and that seemed to be all the more motivation Spencer needed.

Three fingers were shocking. Brendon shifted back and forth on his hips, trying to find the right angle to lessen the sting. “Maybe,” he said, and had to stop and take a few panting breaths. “Maybe give it a minute.”

Spencer stopped, his free hand petting up Brendon’s thigh. “We could switch?” he said.

Just the thought made Brendon’s brain go white and fuzzy, that Spencer was even _offering_ to let Brendon take him like this. As tantalising an offer as it was, and one Brendon would follow up on at some point, he’d been longing for this, just the way they were now. Even through the burning, stinging pain, Brendon wanted this.

Almost by accident, it got better. Brendon kept squirming around and Spencer kept adding more of the oil. The sheets were wet and slippery, and Brendon could only briefly spare a thought of apology for the servants. Then Brendon sort of squeezed down instead of clenching up, and Spencer’s fingers slipped all the way inside. 

There was another sharp stinging followed but an almost unbearable burst of pleasure that made Brendon’s hands scrabble at the sheets in desperation. He heard himself almost through a haze, whining, begging, “Fuck, fuck, Spencer, fuck.” He would have been scandalised at himself, if there was anything left to feel other than the bright sparks of so fucking good shooting down his spine, through his dick, like Spencer’s fingers were wired all throughout his body.

Spencer sat up, pulling his hand free quickly, but carefully, and wiping it on the sheet. “Did I—are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The sudden emptiness left Brendon bereft. He grabbed Spencer by the hair and tugged, sitting up to meet him halfway in a messy kiss, all the while trying to squirm lower in the bed, trying to get Spencer where they both wanted him to be.

“Brendon?”

Brendon flailed around blindly until he found the bottle again. He broke the kiss to flash Spencer a kick, distracted smile and leaned in again. By touch he got the bottle open and spilled it over Spencer’s cock. Spencer groaned into the kiss when Brendon wrapped a slick hand around him and began to stroke. 

After a moment, Spencer reached out to return the favour. Brendon almost let himself be distracted by it. It was familiar and oh so good. But there was a sort of aching emptiness that he somehow knew only Spencer could fill.

“W—” Brendon lost his train of thought when Spencer began to suck on his tongue. “No, wait,” he insisted, and turned his head away. Spencer sucked at his throat instead. 

Brendon grabbed him by the chin and brought Spencer’s gaze to his. Spencer swiped his thumb over the head of Brendon’s cock, and seriously, how was Brendon supposed to be able to think like this? “Spence,” he said, and tried to sound firm. “I want you to fuck me.”

That got Spencer’s attention, head snapping up. Brendon flushed bright red. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to these words, but if the way Spencer’s cock jumped at hearing them was any indication, _he_ liked it.

“Yeah,” Spencer moaned. “Yeah, I want that, too.”

Brendon gave Spencer’s dick another squeeze and then let go, laying back on the sheets. He spread his legs wider in welcoming. Spencer just stared at him for a long moment, eyes darting all over, nostrils flaring. The look on his face made Brendon feel bolder than he was. He dragged a hand down his own chest, bypassing his aching cock, and brushed his fingers over his opening.

Spencer cursed under his breath and surged against Brendon, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Then he was lining up, the blunt head of his cock nudging Brendon’s fingers. Brendon closed his hand around Spencer’s length, guiding him in. He let out an unsteady breath at the first push and reminded himself to bear down.

“Oh,” Brendon panted, “oh, oh, _fuck_.” He dug his fingers in Spencer’s arms, buried his face in Spencer’s neck. He couldn’t stop the noises that kept pouring past his lips, breathy, gasping whines.

“Should I—is it okay?” Brendon couldn’t see Spencer’s face, but it sounded like it was taking all his effort to speak, holding still, only just breaching Brendon’s body.

“You can move,” Brendon managed. “Just, slowly.”

It seemed to take forever, and Brendon had never thought much about the size of Spencer’s cock until now. He didn’t really have much to compare it to, but he liked the way it fit in his hand, and how it stretched his jaw, but now it seemed impossibly big. 

Then Spencer sank that last little bit, skin flush against Brendon’s ass, and there was another spark of pleasure, fainter than before. It was enough to distract from the discomfort. Brendon clung to Spencer’s shoulders and shifted his hips experimentally and there it was again, sharper.

“That’s good?” Spencer asked. He sounded strangled.

Brendon nodded frantically, grinding his hips in tight circle. This time Spencer pulled back just slightly and rocked back in, and “ _Oh_.” Maybe later he’d come up with something more eloquent to describe how amazing it was, but he couldn’t get past the single syllable.

From there it didn’t last very long. With every slow thrust of Spencer’s hips the slide got easier, and the pain faded to a dull, satisfying ache. If Brendon tilted his hips just right, there was that white hot spark of liquid pleasure every time Spencer drove back in. When Spencer started moving faster and harder it only got more intense, until Brendon was rocking up to meet him every time.

“Brendon,” Spencer said, and he’d never sounded that way before, so utterly wrecked. “You feel—I can’t—”

“You can,” Brendon said, petting his hair, his shoulder, anywhere he could reach. He snaked a hand between their bodies, wrapping around his own dick and pulling fast. His own release shocked him. There was none of the normal build, it just hit him out of nowhere, sudden and powerful and he spilled all over his hand and Spencer’s belly.

“Oh,” Spencer said, “Fuck, Brendon, you—that—” and then he groaned, hips jerking fast and hard as he came.

Brendon was trembling and he felt giddy. He kept swallowing back little bursts of laughter. It had never felt like that before. Spencer rubbed his cheek against Brendon’s chest where he’d fallen. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” Brendon finally gave in to the urge and laughed, shaky and joyful. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Spencer, clinging. “I’m—that was— _God_ , I love you.”

Spencer laughed too. Brushing a kiss over Brendon’s collarbone, he sat up a little. “Yeah,” he said, “me, too,” and pushed up to claim Brendon’s mouth in a soft kiss. The movement made him slide free of Brendon’s body. Brendon couldn’t stop the pained moan that caused. 

“Sorry,” Spencer said. “Is it really bad?”

Brendon shook his head. “Not really bad,” he said. Strange, the rush of liquid warmth pouring out of his body, and lingering sting. “I don’t mind. It’s a reminder of what we did.”

“You were—you felt amazing,” Spencer said in a rush. “You can—next time you can have your turn, it was—”

“It felt pretty good from this end, too,” Brendon said. He felt inexplicably smug, and he just wanted to luxuriate in this afterglow as long as possible. Now no one could say he and Spencer didn’t belong to each other entirely. Not even the idea of anyone having heard them bothered Brendon at the moment.

“Move over.” Brendon nudged at Spencer’s stomach until he got the hint and moved to the other side of the bed, away from the wet, slippery mess. Spencer tucked Brendon close to his side, arm around his shoulders to pull him in. 

Beneath his ear, Brendon could hear the steady thump of Spencer’s heart, throbbing in time to the ache that had settled in Brendon’s ass. “I really wish you wouldn’t worry about Europe,” Spencer said. “You’re going to be brilliant.” 

“You have to say that because we’re married,” Brendon muttered.

“I married you because it’s true,” Spencer said. Brendon didn’t feel like arguing. He had the feeling it was something they would disagree on for the rest of their lives, and it didn’t bother him so much when looked at in that perspective. So he sighed and relaxed further into Spencer’s side. 

“And whenever you get too tense, or upset, all I have to do is drag you off to bed,” Spencer teased.

“Hmm,” Brendon said. “Somehow I don’t imagine King Louis would appreciate us leaving in the middle of a state dinner to go have our kit off.”

Spencer laughed, and Brendon liked the way it buzzed against his ear, along his jaw. He let his hand trace idly along Spencer’s waist, the gentle curve of his hip, along the flat of his belly, and felt proprietary in a way he never had before.

“I don’t know about him, though he _is_ French. You should hear the stories my grandmother used to tell about his father,” Spencer said. “Queen Mary, on the other hand, might just ask to watch,” Spencer said. 

Brendon felt himself go a dull red. “What is it about those of you with noble blood that deprives you of all shame?”

“It probably stems from our divine right to rule,” Spencer mused.

“Right,” Brendon said, grinning, and thinking of how Ryan liked to tease Spencer sometimes. “Or all the inbreeding.”

Spencer pinched him, and Brendon poked back, and after a brief spate of tickling they ended up with Brendon flat on his back and Spencer curled up half on top of him, nestled close. “You’re the one who married into it,” Spencer said.

“I did,” Brendon agreed. “Best decision I ever made.”

Fin.


End file.
